Kicking off his slippers, he sat on the side of the bed and looked at his wife. She hadn’t moved. Slowly he pulled back the bedclothes to allow himself to slide in to bed alongside her. She grunted a little and sighed, but slept on.
George gently placed his arm over Charlotte in a gesture of protection. The extra weight caused her to roll towards him. He took this as a sign of affection and leaned over to kiss her lightly on the face. She whimpered a little, like a kitten. He kissed her again, a little harder. Charlotte moved, but this time onto her back. Her unconscious movement was not to escape George’s arm, but to find a more comfortable position. To George it appeared she was making a movement of opportunity, for him to carry on in his lovemaking. He slowly moved the bedclothes back so he could see his wife’s body. Her breasts rose at each breath, which he found fascinating as he watched the slow movement of her nightdress. He slowly moved his hand to her face and stroked it gently. Her silken skin, her perfume of scented soap, and her own female scent enveloped him. He sucked in the heady aroma, and made a memory of the time and place. He leaned closer to kiss her, but this time on the lips. His movement caused her to come partly awake.
‘Is it you, George?’ she asked in her half-sleep.
‘Yes, my darling, it’s your George.’
The taste of brandy on her lips brought her to full wakefulness.
‘What are you doing here?’ she cried, and opened her eyes. She saw George watching her with a strange glint in his eyes.
‘Are you pleased to see me, my love?’
‘You’re drunk, George, please go back to your own room and let me sleep!’ She pushed George with both hands.
‘No, no, that’s not what it is all about.’
‘What do you mean? I just want to sleep. Please, George, let me sleep. I am very tired and we can talk of this in the morning.’
‘I am not here to talk, my love, but to claim my rights as a husband. I have waited long enough.’
‘No, George, this is not what you said.’
‘What I said was out of love for you, but you have tried your best to kill my love, so now I will take what is mine!’
‘You can’t, George. You don’t want it this way. This is not love.’
With his right leg across her to stop her wriggling, he held both wrists in a single grip and pushed up her nightdress with his free hand.
‘Not love, I must agree, but we have not shared any love for these past months, so what does it matter?’
‘You promised, George,’ cried Charlotte, as tears filled her eyes.
‘I promised to love my wife and to cherish her, but you have not been a wife to me, so I am free of all promises.’ His hands pushed the nightdress above her hips to lay bare her slim legs. His eyes looked on the treasure Charlotte denied him. He pushed her legs apart with all the power in his right leg, as she tried to hold them together.
‘George, this is not the way it should be,’ she cried. He rolled over onto her and smothered her efforts to squirm away from him.
‘Sleeping in separate beds, and separate bedrooms, is not what is meant either.’
He bent down and kissed her on the lips. She accepted the kiss without responding. She accepted the inevitable, knowing she could not beat George or deny him his rights as her husband. To whom could she complain? Her husband owned her for all intents. She knew she had been fortunate that for the past few months George had not forced himself upon her. She had hoped she would be able to keep him at a distance, and that he would find himself a mistress or one of the women in the city. She decided the best thing to do was to think of something else while he had his way, and perhaps he would then leave her alone.
George forced open her legs and mounted her. It was not pleasurable, knowing Charlotte did not want it this way, but it was obvious she did not want it at all, and he was tired of playing the nice fellow.
Charlotte managed to release her hands and held her arms over her eyes. She did not wish see the expression on George’s face or to look at him.
She suffered George as he grunted. She felt nothing emotionally, except an invasion of her private self.
Charlotte made her way to her water closet. George lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, and thought of the last half-hour. He was aware that the drink had taken over and that she hadn’t enjoyed his lovemaking. If he was honest, neither had he. Why couldn’t she welcome him to bed, as other women welcomed their husbands?
He heard Charlotte returning, so he began to move some of the bedclothes in an effort to make the bed a little more presentable.
‘Please, do not waste your time. I will not use these bedclothes again. I will have them washed or even thrown away. I can’t sleep in this bed after this attack.’
‘Attack? Attack? I never attacked you! All I did was try and make love to you, and when you refused, I took what was mine by right and by law.’
‘You will never have a child by me, George!’
‘A child? All I wanted from you was a little love.’
‘You have lost any chance of that.’
George sat on the side of the bed and studied the floor, and thought of Charlotte’s words. What chance would he have now for children, or for love? Perhaps he should go back to sea. Things were a lot easier to control at sea than his sham marriage. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there was another man.
‘Is there someone else?’ asked George.
‘There is always someone else, compared to you. Do you think you are the only man who has been interested in me?’
‘Of course not, you are an attractive woman, a beautiful woman, and I am not surprised there is another man.’
Charlotte looked at George. What was he was talking about? Her spirits lifted as she realised he thought her dislike of him was due to an infatuation for another man. It dawned on her that he could not accept the fact that she didn’t love him. He had to invent another man. Her mind raced as she realised that George had just handed her the instrument with which she could make sure that he would never touch her again. No man likes to go where another has been.
‘You are correct, George, there has been another man.’
‘Who is the swine?’
‘I can’t say, George, I am too upset.’
‘Upset? What do you mean upset, when I have lost my wife to this person? Who is he? I will call him out and we shall settle this.’
‘No, George, you cannot do that. It would be murder and it may be you who is murdered. I would be careful whom I called out, if I were you!’
‘Who is this person who goes around taking advantage of a newly married woman?’
‘I can’t say, George, and I will not say.’
‘You will say, and I will know the scoundrel’s name before this day is out. What is his name? Why will you not tell me? Do I know him?’
‘George, I will not give you his name.’
‘So I do know him?’ said George, standing over Charlotte.
‘I never said that!’
‘You didn’t have to. I could see it in your eyes!’
‘Please, George, don’t make me say anything. It will upset you.’
‘What do you mean upset me? The only person to be upset will be this scoundrel when I get hold of him. Now tell me who it is, or do I have to take a strap to you?’
‘You wouldn’t dare strike me!’
Furious, George lashed out with the flat of his hand and struck Charlotte across the face. ‘Does that satisfy you as to my intentions?’
Charlotte, knocked back on to the bed, held her hand over her face. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She touched her face gently. She feared that she would be permanently damaged and ugly if he struck her again. Charlotte clenched her fists and wanted to strike George and hurt him, but she knew he was too strong. She could never win such a contest.
Then it came to her, the winning blow.
She rolled across the bed to the far side, leaving its width between her and George.
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’Do you really want to know his name? Are you sure you want to know?’
‘Of course I want to know, and I want to know where he lives. I will have something to say to such a person, and I’ll show him what happens to someone who meddles in another man’s life.’
Charlotte watched her husband’s eyes and the anger in them. He was ready to kill the person who cuckolded him. Now, she thought, is the time to push home the knife and to get my revenge.
‘I’ll tell you. His name is King.’
‘King? That’s my name! What are you talking about?’
‘King! King! King!’ she screamed at him, her face contorted with the effort.
‘Are you stupid? What are you talking about?’
‘I am talking about your son, William King!’
‘William? You lie! You and he have never been alone together!’
‘You think not?’
‘When?’
‘The farewell party that you couldn’t attend!’
‘The farewell …’
‘Yes, the farewell party, don’t you remember? I asked old Mrs Johnston to take me.’
‘What are you telling me?’
‘I am telling you your son is a much better lover than you are. I didn’t have to keep him waiting for over four months!’
George stepped backwards and collapsed into a chair. He stared at his wife, not able to believe what he had heard.
‘William,’ he whispered. The blood drained from his face.
Charlotte watched her husband. Had she gone too far? He appeared very ill. Her emotions swung from joy to sadness that George might die. She watched him as her feelings became less fearful.
George remained seated. He did not have the will to strike her again.
She watched his eyes fill with tears and overflow. He buried his face in his hands and gave out great sobs, his heart completely broken.
Charlotte made to go forward and comfort the broken-hearted man, but then remembered that she’d wanted this to happen. She stopped at the foot of the bed, in a position to rush out the door if George became violent.
George used the sleeve of his nightshirt to wipe his eyes. Using the chair as a support, he stood and thrust himself to the bedroom door. He pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway.
The door closed quietly behind him as he slowly made his way back to the guest room.
Chapter Nineteen
Boston
February 1806
The Albatross butted her way south into the Atlantic Ocean. On the morning of their thirty-sixth day out of Liverpool, a welcome cry was heard from the masthead. ‘Land Oh! Fine on the starboard bow.’ Sang had just completed the ritual of shaving William when they heard the lookout’s cry.
William continued to drink his tea, as if he had all the time in the world. He’d expected land to be sighted that morning. He was relieved, and happy with his skill at navigating. The thick cloud they had experienced recently had hidden the sun for the noon sight and he’d been forced to estimate the Albatross’s position.
William finished his tea, checked his image in the mirror, and noted that his hair was longer than he preferred. ‘Sang, do your skills extend to cutting hair?’
‘Have cut crew hair, Captain.’
‘Perhaps after Boston I may allow you to cut mine.’ William placed his hat on his head, checked that it was correctly positioned, and only then made his way to the deck.
On deck the second mate saluted and pointed ahead. ‘We have sighted land, Sir!’
‘So I believe, Mr Fuller, thank you.’
‘Good morning, Sir.’
‘Good morning, Mr Austin, have we identified the landfall?’
‘Not yet, Sir, the mist is still over the land, and even with the spyglass I cannot get a clear image.’
William glanced at the shrouded landmass and then up at the high clouds. ‘It’ll be the best part of the day before we know our exact position.’
‘Aye, Sir, I think you’re right.’
The land grew more solid as they drew near. By early afternoon the heat of the day had dissipated the low grey land mist. It would be early evening before the Albatross would reach the coast.
William did not wish to enter an unfamiliar harbour so close to nightfall. ‘Mr Austin, trim the sails, we will spend the night hove to. I want the sun behind me when we enter amongst the islands to pick up the pilot.
William waited while Sang smoothed the creases across the shoulders of his best uniform. He was ready to meet his main Boston contact, Abraham Judson. He hoped the agent would be as efficient as Owen. A fast turnaround was required, with a profitable cargo for the return voyage.
William stepped on to the wharf and read the hand-drawn map and street address of Owen’s contact once again. He glanced around and saw that warehouses covered most of the north side of the wharf. The warehouses supported a mixture of shops and small workshops, a sound of hammering carrying on the still morning air. The street leading from the dock area was cobbled. A channel down the centre of the street carried sewerage to the waters of Boston harbour. He trod carefully as he scanned the buildings for Judson’s name. Each building was a mixture of warehouses and offices. A sign hung outside stating their business as a chandler or importer of various goods.
At the Judson premises he pushed open a door. A well-dressed black man greeted him and asked if he could help.
‘I wish to see Mr Abraham Judson.’
‘This is Mr Abraham’s office, may I ask who wishes to speak to him?’
‘Please tell him Captain King, of the Albatross. I arrived this morning.’
The black man left William standing in the warehouse, which allowed him to study his surroundings. Part of the building had been created as an office area where a group of whites and blacks worked. The white men appeared to be filling in ledgers or copying manifests. The black men waited until a writer called and sent them on an errand.
‘Captain King, what a pleasure!’
William turned from studying the clerks to see a rotund man making his way towards him. The man limped and used a stick in his left hand. ‘Mr Judson?’
‘The same, Sir, the very same. How are you?’
‘Well, Mr Judson. I would feel better if I could start work unloading.’
‘All in good time, my dear fellow, all in good time, I have arranged for the labour to be at your ship later this afternoon.’
Owen had described Abraham Judson to William and told him how Judson received the injury that caused him to limp. He and a ship’s captain had sampled wine in Judson’s office. In accompanying the captain back to his ship, Judson missed his footing and fell from the quay to the deck of the captain’s ship. His left leg was shattered and his doctor offered him a choice, lose the damaged leg or lose his life if gangrene occurred. Judson chose to keep his leg and asked the doctor to fix it as best he could. The leg was saved but had healed twisted, leaving Judson with a permanent limp.
‘I am also searching for outbound cargo. Do you have any ideas?’ asked William.
‘Most ships sail in ballast to the West Indies and pick up molasses, sugar or coffee for England,’ replied Judson.
‘I am reluctant to carry any cargo produced by slaves. I hoped you may have some suggestions for an alternative.’
‘I received a letter from Owen and he outlined your plans for this little enterprise. I am afraid there is little produced hereabout at this time of the year. In a few weeks perhaps salt cod from Newfoundland would be available. In mid-winter there is little grown to sell, but that’s not to say we will not seek out what we can. I would have written to Owen to inform him of the limited prospect of an outbound cargo, untainted by slave labour, but you have arrived before the letter would have even reached him. Never fear I am sure we will find something. Please follow me to my office.’
William followed and listened to the agent chattering about the weather. He noticed that Judson always seemed to end every subject on a high not
e. Clearly his motto was never to disappoint a customer, as it may cost money.
‘The one good thing about the winter is the lack of mosquitoes, so even winter has its positive elements. We have a large number of lakes around Boston and I used to skate on them as a youngster. After my fall I put the skates away. I have enough trouble just getting about. Can’t complain though, at least the Lord thought I was fit enough to stay on this earth. He must have some plan for me, but I do not know what it is,’ laughed Abraham, his voice lifting at the end of the sentence.
‘Here we are,’ he said, and opened a door to a spacious office. Large windows overlooked the approaches to the harbour. ‘I like the view, it allows me to watch the comings and goings of the harbour. I saw you arrive this morning.’
‘We arrived at seven o’clock, just about dawn.’
‘Yes, I know. I like to get in to the office early. The sun rising over the ocean is a view of which I never tire – can I get you a drink?’
‘Do you have tea?’
‘Tea? In Boston, the last Englishman who asked for tea lost a whole country. To be accurate, it was the taxes on the tea, not the actual tea. Yes, we do have tea.’ He rang a small bell on his desk. The door opened and the black man who had originally greeted William stood in the doorframe.
‘Tea, Elijah, please, for two.’ The black man bowed and withdrew.
‘I know you don’t like dealing with slave owners, and that you do not wish to carry cargo produced by slaves, but Elijah was a slave once. He is not any more. He is a free man. He used to work on a plantation in South Carolina before he escaped and made his way to Boston, where I found him. Bounty hunters tracked him here, so I paid them off and kept him. I took him to England, where I met Owen and his friends, and they convinced me that Elijah should be free. Well, you know it is illegal to have a slave in England, and as I had become fond of Elijah, I asked him if he wanted to stay in England or return to Boston with me, as a free man. He chose to return with me, so now he is my manservant and he earns a wage. All the other blacks downstairs are also free. Elijah hired them for me, and they all report to him. It took a few people in Boston a long time to get used to so many free blacks in the company, but I don’t care what others think if I’m making a profit.’
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